


Heated Customs

by Grimmy88



Series: Pair Bonded, Tied Together [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Sex, mentions of other pairings briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy88/pseuds/Grimmy88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ori is entering his first heat and he knows with whom he'd like to spend it (maybe to spend more than just his first). Unfortunately he has to contend with both his lack of knowledge regarding any specifics on sex and his elder brother. </p><p> </p><p>This was a request given by Kitsune45 for a Dwalin/Ori pairing in the same universe as Pair Bonded, Tied Together. I hope you like it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Italics are Khuzdul.
> 
> I had to break this into two parts because it was far longer than I expected!
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

            “What do I do, then?”

            He’d had no choice but to ask Nori. It was true that he’d never been particularly close to him, definitely not compared to the relationship he shared with Dori. Ori knew this was because the two bumped heads on almost everything, including himself.

            Nori hadn’t wanted to simply settle in the Blue Mountains as his siblings had (though Ori hadn’t much choice). Dori had and he’d been quite successful with the amount of business his restaurant had drawn. He’d grown comfortable and he never understood why their middle sibling couldn’t accept such a life as well.

            Nori had, and always had, an eye for trinkets, more so than was normal for a dwarrow. This had led him from their home for long periods of time that were more often than Ori would have liked. He suspected the same of their older brother but he’d never been told so directly.

            Rather, the restaurateur had, to outside eyes, acted as if he hadn’t minded in the slightest, save for the pitying look he’d present when faced with Ori’s disappointment.

            His elder brothers both cared for him, he knew. The problem was the way they showed it, or in fact, didn’t.

            He’d always been protected by his eldest brother. Dori was also an omega, though one could only tell by his scent. Ori had never met anyone stronger than his brother, not even an alpha! In his early years he’d always relished the strength the circle of those arms provided.

            With every year he aged, however, that circle constricted further.

            The main reason he’d joined Thorin’s quest was to get away from it. He’d wanted to prove himself, though he hadn’t exactly known to whom.

            He prided himself on being an artist and scribe, so maybe it had been the scholars. He wanted to prove he could be more than a meek omega—after all, Dori wasn’t!—so maybe or most definitely it had been his brother. He wanted to prove he could handle himself to the entire group, to show that he was no longer a child, maybe to a sibling who hadn’t been there to watch him grow.

            Nori had always been different from his kin. He was a beta and Ori knew that had been a large factor in driving him from their home—what beta would want his omega brother bossing him around, after all? Ori was another, younger and smaller, and he certainly didn’t want it either!

            It was in this, his brothers’ issues with one another over time and in the present that he had managed to procure time to sit alone with the beta.

             Dori had always avoided any questions he’d posed about alphas, heats, and anything relative to the two. This was not a habit likely to change but the young dwarrow also knew that where he was concerned his brothers always disagreed. Nori did it just to be contrary, Ori was sure, but he’d remembered the support he’d gotten from one sibling in particular back in Mister Baggins’ home and he held hope that it had been genuine.

            Nori was currently smoking on his pipe. He focused on it for long moments before answering Ori with a question of his own. “Why are you asking?” His eyes glinted as they surveyed the group of dwarrows around them. He spent a long time regarding the alphas. “One of the princes?”

            Ori crossed through a word in the journal on his lap and kept his eyes downward to steel himself. It worked for his focus but not for the blush or the shaking of his fingers. “No.”

            Nori’s hairline went up and by extension so too did his braided eyebrows. There was a tense, palpable moment where Ori could almost feel the questions wheeling through his brother’s mind. Finally he settled on one.

            “You’re actually going into heat, then?”

            The omega gave a small nod. Dori had never been clear on any specifics, not even now when it was clear Ori’s smell had been strengthening. The only ‘advice’ given to him were the herbs his eldest brother himself took to ward against pregnancy.

            Ori took them, of course, but he wasn’t naïve enough to believe he absolutely needed them. After all, theirs was a tense, possessive race, but they weren’t unable to contain themselves. He’d always been told horror stories of an omega in full heat getting used by an entire group of alphas spoiling him for any future bond mate.

            It was a lie, obviously, a story used to frighten him as such an act would have resulted in many executions or exiles and there were no records of such a thing ever happening. Besides Dori had had partners before and he was still considered a very attractive candidate to many among their people.

            In any case they were among (for the most part) some of the most honorable dwarrows of their entire clan.

            “Ori,” Nori began, “we come from good stock, but not _that_ good.”

            The scribe flushed from both shame and his anxiety. “I’m not---…” He stammered to a disparaged half hum.

            He’d seen Dori during the heats when he had no partner—constantly reddened, insistently snappy, and obviously uncomfortable. Without a partner the heat would clench and tug at him for three days. With one that first day, perhaps that first time, would be his only.

            He was thinking logically, truly. “It’s just the one time.”

            “Your first time.” Nori’s pipe returned to his mouth. “Ambitious choice, but there’s not much competition out here, I suppose.”

            Ori misspelled another word, body and mind apparently in agreement over the possible mistake of enlisting Nori’s help.

            “Alright,” the thief said after waving away a puff of smoke. “It’s very simple—if you just want a shag. When we turn press your arse into his face and move your tail—show him what he’s gonna get.”

            At this point Ori found himself hiding behind the barrier of his journal.

            “Come off it, you’ve already been fawning over him. You’re acting the part of an omega out for a bond mate.”

            “I’m not!” the scribe protested.

            “If I read that ‘account’ of yours I’m going to find more pages about him than our ‘king-to-be.’”

            “They’re equal, actually,” Ori snapped just to be contrary. “Anyway you can’t write something like this and leave out his loyalty and—…”

            “Ori, take what you can get.”

            “What’s he taking?” Dori was still several feet away but he seemed to have no compulsion in involving the entirety of the camp in his brothers’ conversation. He carried with him two bowls of stew but Ori, mortified by the eyes on them, moved by to get his own.

            He ended up sitting by their hobbit companion for he was the only one he knew for certain wouldn’t interrogate him.

 

 

            He was always conscious of Nori’s warnings but it never seemed to slow his questions nor his quill. It was important to highlight every member of their company for historical record as each member deserved their names immortalized. Yet he continuously found himself gravitating back to his preferred dwarrow.

            Dwalin, son of Fundin, was one of their elder members; a warrior of prestige and a loyal comrade of the highest esteem. While Balin could and would wax on about their battles Dwalin provided him gritty reality as only a hardened soldier could.

            He was biased, that much was always clear. The proudest ones of their race, outside of the line of Durin, had always been their warriors. It had always seemed intensified within the tattooed fighter by his staunch respect for their current leader, Thorin II.

            Theirs was a relationship fortified by blood, pain, and the most admirable of mutual respect. Any could see their friendship was one so deep it was a rarity.

            Ori had always thought they complimented one another. Where every word Thorin Oakenshield spoke seemed to be weighed by passion and duty Mister Dwalin’s short sentences were always laden with heavy, biting truth.

            It was vastly different than a scribe was taught and Ori found it strangely inspiring, just as he found his brazen disregard stirring enough to quite probably make a fool of himself during their cycle.

            He was doing a fine job on that front already—he hadn’t stopped sidling his pony close to the fighter’s (even if this usually meant quietly listening in on his conversations with his brother and their king). When he could get a moment with him alone he asked him as many questions his mind could conjure.

            At first Mister Dwalin had suffered this with a good humor (as did any around them who were more than happy to give their own input), but gradually his already stunted replies became, somehow, even less until they degenerated into grunts and rumbles.

            Ori had been disgruntled but as his body grew warmer and more tense than ever in his life he found he couldn’t focus on (or be hurt by) it. It helped that a good portion of his attention was on making his saddle-wriggling more discreet.

            Besides, Mister Dwalin never sent him away and that was enough to give him hope on the night of their change. Unfortunately the courage he’d felt all but scattered the moment before his transformation.

            Perhaps in preparation everything in his brain felt strewn about haphazardly, incomprehensible, or maybe it was all inconsequential compared to the heated weight between his legs.

            He made sure he turned a good distance from the others and found it helped when he focused on his fellow omegas. He’d truthfully been curious as to Mister Baggins’ wolfen appearance in particular. The hobbit was smaller than they in his bestial form, of course, even though Ori knew he was a similar size (though he tended to size himself against the more average of their companions). His coat was the same glossy hue as his curls, comparable only to Fili’s in both color and beauty.

            Ori had always been told that omega wolves were naturally the shiniest and most visually appealing. Dori had always held the belief, even as a dwarrow. There was never a day where his hair and beard went without the most extravagant of braids.

            His brother had once held a color not all dissimilar to what he himself possessed and Ori wasn’t vain in recognizing the color’s charm. But now with age (though Dori’s hair had lightened early even by their standards) the scribe couldn’t explain why his brother was still unmated (though, yes, considering Dori’s attitude and behavior might help provide an answer). He wasn’t the white or gray so many others exhibited (Balin the former and their king showing streaks of the latter), he was a silver, almost iridescent.

            Ori hoped he’d be lucky enough to inherent the same color even if their differing fathers meant it was unlikely.

            The scribe was small in his wolfen form, as he was a dwarrow. His coat was thinner than the other wolves but his color was one that drew eyes and while Nori shared the same and Gloin’s was considerably more vibrant Ori’s would wager his fur was far softer. While he took no pride in his hair as a dwarrow (from the way Dori cut it to the simple, practically meaningless plaints) he relished his appearance as a wolf.

            There’d never been any doubt in his mind that it was a vast improvement.

            Even so he curled in on himself this cycle, watching the others wrestle, prance and play, or sleep. He lost track of half the pack fairly early (even their wizard seemed to have left for time to himself) including his brothers and all the alphas. Even their burglar seemed to have wandered from the clearing.

            There was a part of him, the vulgar dripping, contracting, absurdly hollow part of him that goaded him to rise and seek out his own mate for the night but he wasn’t sure if following that urge was proper etiquette. He wasn’t sure in any regard concerning that urge.

            He was torn but before he could decide between uncertain fear and pressing need he became aware of a presence behind him.

            He knew it was Mister Dwalin by the smell but he still rose and turned to him. The warrior was an average brown, very common among their people. He stood out, however, as did some other battle-wise dwarrow for the angry scars that left hairless lines and patches along his muscular animal form.

            He snorted quite loudly and pressed forward to snuffle their muzzles together. Ori, still unsure, remained still to allow the alpha his scrutiny. Apparently this was not the correct action for an omega desiring vigorous progress because the warrior gave an almost exasperated huff. When he made to leave Ori lunged ahead in interception.

            With Mister Dwalin’s eyes blown wide but most definitely on him he ducked his shoulders down, reared his rump up, and swept his tail to the side.

            As a dwarrow he would’ve been ashamed. As a dwarrow the display wouldn’t have been enough, to be sure. As a dwarrow he would’ve gone running already! As a dwarrow…

            As a wolf his hips went higher.

            Mister Dwalin was nosing him again, effectively lifting him out of the position. Ori went but he couldn’t raise his head because if his thoughts weren’t as articulate (and almost completely overwrought with emotion) as a dwarrow they were still concrete and his failure hurt so heavy.

            He was nosed again rather roughly which forced him to look regardless. The alpha rose up on his hind legs. He shuffled there until his balance failed him. Then his head was back at Ori’s side, pushing the omega a few steps. He then stood once again, front paws waving at the air in a futile manner.

            By his third stance Ori was balancing up astride him. They stepped awkwardly together and then Mister Dwalin carefully leant his head, resting it over the smaller wolf’s shoulder. He swatted his paws again and Ori let his sweep back freely until he lost his stability under the added weight.

            The warrior was careful to land away from the scribe’s rolling body. There was another snort and, maybe, just maybe it could’ve been meant as laughter. Ori rose quickly, tail swaying behind him at the ready.

            It stopped when he was circled because he among all that brown he could see the red of his intended’s interest. It was his desired outcome but still it shocked him into stillness. He had already made it abundantly clear he was unsure of how to advance their encounter so he stood, frozen, save for curling his tail to the side once again.

            Dwalin was upon him then, their lower bodies connecting, the shared weight balanced at that point and where the alpha’s front legs tightened about Ori’s tuck. He felt the swipe of a tongue on his back and Ori tried to crane towards it but he was pulled firmly back.

            His alpha slid in at the pull, thick and easy and somehow exactly what Ori needed. He might have growled when the splitting pressure extended further within but it wasn’t in pain. He’d been told horror stories of first times, of how foreign and hard and stabbing his partner would feel but this moment, and then the next when everything intensified in tandem with Dwalin’s hips, felt perfect.

            Their joining was simply wetter than anything he’d felt and warmer than any hearth he’d enjoyed. Within him there was only spurts of pleasure promising and eluding to more if only his alpha moved faster, was more, was...

            Ori’s ears had been so attuned to the sucking, obscene noises of their coupling, his center overwhelmed by the penetration, and his heart so focused on working that the subtle swelling of his mate’s length had not been noticed (though enjoyed, apparently) until his lips were spreading so wide one would think it painful.

            For Ori it was anything but. He wanted to howl but his warrior gave no hesitation in his stride to compensate for the expanding girth. He could only pant and writhe and clench himself around the length, wanting Dwalin to forcibly open him wider and wider.

            Ori whined out his orgasm, arching his back, blanking his mind wetting his partner.

            This gush gave the alpha the leverage and lubricant needed to slip inside and Ori had never thought to feel so full, to actually feel the larger wolf throbbing within him. He tried to move only after remaining immobile for several minutes, embarrassed of being caught enjoying the intimacy. He didn’t make it far before he was interrupted by both a sharp tug at the lips of his opening and an equally sharp snarl from Dwalin.

            He shrank back fearfully more so from injuring himself or his alpha than the loud sound. He wasn’t sure what had gone wrong—perhaps he’d been too small after all, especially for one the size of the warrior. He began to pant, worry replacing any lingering warmth within him. Of course he’d ruin his moment with the one dwarrow since before he could remember any clear memories.

            He slowly tilted his hips from the left to the right, hoping the timid motion would allow them to part. He made no progress and then Dwalin’s jaws were closed around the back of his neck. There was a slight rumble from his throat in accompaniment and the increase of his weight on Ori’s back.

            The omega went down, resting on the grass and allowing Dwalin to awkwardly shuffle his back feet, making their connection less strained. The press of teeth was replaced with that lingering tongue.

            They remained as thus for several long moments, maybe an hour to Ori’s overwrought mind. When his mate finally slipped free he could feel his opening spasm and then the slow slide of thick liquid dribbling free at the motion, and then that tongue again and again.

            When Dwalin wound about him he couldn’t quite calm his heart enough to sleep until long after his partner had.


	2. Part Two

            Upon waking Mister Dwalin was already sitting and staring at his curled and very much still-nude form. His first thought was to cover himself but the older dwarrow did not look displeased and so Ori stretched himself out and fought to keep his face pale and eyes unmoving.

            He sat up, fingers remaining laced with the grass.

            “Are ye hurt?” Mister Dwalin asked, voice even.

            Ori had always thought a lover’s voice was supposed to be hoarse after the act. “I’m alright,” he was, too. He most certainly could feel where their union had tugged but it was a welcome soreness. His confusion was more taxing than anything physical. “What was--?”

            “My knot,” the alpha supplied quickly but not rudely. “That was your first, then. We didn’t know.”

            The idea that he’d discussed Ori’s heat made his shyness bubble anew within his stomach drawing his eyes downwards and his arms up around himself.

            “Are ye taking herbs?”

            “I am,” Ori reassured, intent on explaining the situation to the larger male. Unfortunately he was cut off when what was clearly Dori’s voice shattered the morning’s calm. Then his body (bottom half thankfully clothed) barged through the brush to the north of the clearing. The remaining members slipped in from different directions, drawn by the call.

            Ori had nothing with which to cover himself and absolutely no time to find anything before both brothers were lurching over to him. To his mortification the only ones who held back were the betas, the hobbit, and their wizard.

            Nori slowed upon approach but Dori hurried forward using the momentum from one large lunge. He was well out of the thief’s range and yet he still urged his legs into a full sprint.

            With that sprint, and all his weight, he collided into Mister Dwalin. They both went reeling and Ori squawked and sprawled out of the way straight into the arms of his non-homicidal sibling.

            Omega and alpha snarled at one another as if still in their animal forms. Ori (and mostly likely none of his comrades) had ever seen such a challenge issued between the vastly different ranks. Of course there had never been an omega as spirited or as strong as Dori.

            They grappled with one another, tossed their weight back and forth, and volleyed foul words at one another. There were long moments of frustrated grunts and equal exertion before anyone intervened.

            Thorin was able to grip and pull his friend away. The warrior struggled only briefly before realizing exactly who had him after which he relented almost immediately to his oldest friend. Dori, on the other hand, took the combined efforts of the remaining alphas. Each prince held an arm and Gloin was failing to force the omega backwards into a sitting position.

            “ _Enough_ ,” Thorin bellowed, opting to grit out their language, perhaps to spare the hobbit from the squabble. “ _There will be numerous chances of dying ahead; we don’t need it amongst us!_ ” Dori paused at that. “ _You know our ways and if your brother offered—…_ ”

            “ _Offered?_ ” the omega hissed and more than jaw one dropped at the tone focused at their leader. “ _It was his first heat; he didn’t know what he offered, much less **how** to do so!_ ” He wrenched his arms from the heirs but did not move. Instead he motioned to them. “ _If it was one of them--!_ ”

            Their king crossed his arms, clearly exasperated.

            “ _I should have known better—to think you’d actually hold that cur responsible when you’re no better! We can all smell the hobbit on you!_ ”

            “ _And who do we smell on you?!_ ” Mister Dwalin was quick to step forward again.

            That got Dori to surge forward as well. Thorin was at his friend’s side and now even the betas were moving into keep their dominant members from the omega. Balin and Bifur held their hands up and Nori crossed to both protect Dori and impede his movement. Their voices continued to rise until so too did their wizard.

            Gandalf had been discussing with their burglar who had remained well away from the scuffle, regarding it with distaste as one does rowdy children. Neither was going to get involved, evidently, and there was no blame to be had in that—Ori was arguably the center of the feud and he wanted nothing more than to crawl back to the Blue Mountains.

            The movement of their gray-clad friend sent Thorin to silence, however. More voices dropped away soon thereafter and those left were silenced by their lord.

            “We need to move,” he didn’t suggest it. “Go prepare breakfast and the rest of you see to preparing the ponies.”

            Each dwarrow knew where their orders lie and they dispersed until Ori and his brothers, Mister Dwalin and his, and Thorin remained.

            “Ori,” the dark haired alpha turned to him. “Did you offer?”

            The scribe held the blue gaze lest any submission incite his brother’s mistrust and fury again. He answered assuredly, guided though his encounter with Mister Dwalin was. “Yes. I didn’t want to be in heat for three days. I--…” Here his voice failed him.

            “Young as he is,” Balin spoke before the moment could drawl on, “he is of age, Dori.”

            Dori glared so hard Ori thought a vein in his forehead would burst. The oldest dwarrow was silenced by it but he did not look afraid, but perhaps a bit apologetic.

            “Eat,” Thorin ordered before moving away. “We’re leaving.”

            The still enraged omega turned to Mister Dwalin once more. “This was because of the heat, don’t approach him again.”

            The warrior went to speak but Balin’s hand on his forearm stopped him. Ori managed to meet his eyes once more before his brothers blocked out his view.

 

 

            Ori realized that Mister Dwalin wasn’t very good at following orders. He found himself consistently sandwiched between his one-time mate and his brother whenever their group was presented with an obstacle. He was rescued from troll hands and had barriers between him and orcs, and then he was drawn back from elven riders. Even though he’d been made to sit by his brothers during ‘dinner’ (or lack thereof) afterwards, around their elf-furniture induced fire, he often looked up to find eyes eager to meet his.

            Even in the early hours before they left when Dori spared a few moments to right his simple plates he was watched. He wondered but returned each look.

            Somehow as they’d attempted to scale the pathways of the Misty Mountains he’d been separated from his brothers by at least seven or eight of their other companions. Strong to his front had been Mister Dwalin. The warrior had been able to keep two omegas, Ori himself and Bilbo, from falling repeatedly.

            When their stone giant crashed into the rocks and Ori anticipated crushing and darkness it was Mister Dwalin who prevented it by somehow cushioning him and yet remaining alive himself. He’d drawn the omega back to safety and he knew after that it was his fault nobody had noticed their hobbit missing.

            Thorin had saved his omega and he in turn was rescued by his friend but still Ori had found himself staring at the cave walls that night, not ashamed, but angered by his uselessness.

            So while he had been afraid with that obese goblin finger aimed at his face and soon thereafter disoriented by Gandalf’s blast the moment his hands had gripped one of Mister Dwalin’s war hammers he’d set out to ensure he wasn’t useless again.

            He had talent with his slingshot but it would’ve done him no good, and truly it hadn’t before either. This hammer was of a vast weight and he had no choice but to keep to the middle of his group until he’d become accustomed to his new balance.

            When he’d felt comfortable enough he’d been able to cave in a few heads to his own delight.

            The feeling had been short-lived as one escape had led to a situation from which there could be none. He hadn’t remembered losing his alpha’s war hammer; he’d only remembered clambering into a tree with his brothers and holding and holding until he was caught.

 

 

            Ori was, and always had been, interested in anything he could learn. As such he had an avid interest in cultures, even if fellow members of his race never understood why. It was this that allowed him to feel more comfortable than any of their company, save Bilbo, among Beorn’s gardens.

            While the others had feasted to recuperate their morale (indeed he’d used this to slip away from Dori who loved food almost more than their hobbit!) Ori had written pages on whatever he fancied as he enjoyed the setting sun. He wrote on the over-sized bumblebees, the flowers, and the funny animals acting in their host’s stead.

            It was here, behind one of the tall hedges, that Mister Dwalin found him. Ori’s sense weren’t as acute because he was no longer in heat but the older dwarrow’s scent still reached him long before his shadow.

            Ori didn’t raise his head because while Mister Dwalin had looked after him in their dangers he wasn’t sure he’d been the one for whom his once-alpha had been looking.

            The tattooed dwarrow sat and together they listened to the hum of the bees—a calming thing at the kind distance the insects kept.

            “What’re y--…”

            “Thank you for--…”

            Their voices halted each other and the moment may have been tense had Ori not found speaking over the short-spoken alpha so humorous. He looked to grey eyes before trying again. “Thank you for your war hammer.”

            “You wielded it well.”

            Ori began to sketch one of the bees in the margin of his page. “…I don’t think you could actually see that.”

            Mister Dwalin’s hands came into his view. “I saw you smash that warg’s skull in before the trees.” He reenacted it with his palm.

            The scribe smiled at the praise even though they both knew well enough it had been a combination of luck and fear that had saved his back from a mauling. He enjoyed the feeling a little longer before frowning. “I think Dori’s going to be full enough to realize I’m not there soon. I don’t think anybody wants you two to fight again.”

            There was a hard tap against his boot—the toe of Mister Dwalin’s.

            “That’s only a problem if you don’t want me here.”

            Ori looked up from under the line of his hair.

            “Do you want me to leave?”

            He was shaking his head before realizing by the ungraceful sway of his braids and the smack of them on his face. He willed the color embedded there away because he knew he had nothing of which to be embarrassed; he knew Mister Dwalin, perhaps not as long as the others but by now as deeply.

            The larger dwarrow wasn’t going to string along the conversation for compliments or self-appraisal. He’d come out confident at that must have meant at some stage he’d thought the same of Ori: that he knew parts of him and though they could both admit that great portions of that knowledge was lacking, Mister Dwalin wanted to learn.

            “It wasn’t just your heat.”

            “How do you know?” Ori asked though not contradictory.

            “All the time you spent asking me questions, riding beside me: it’s what omegas do when they want a mate.”

            “So grunting and being short with me is what alphas do?” He asked it curiously but not so much to make it sound any less the teasing it was.

            Mister Dwalin gave him a smirk and he reached out to carefully take his journal from his hand so Ori let him, pleased with the delicate manner in which it was set aside. He held out his hands again and in their palms their differences were obvious, large and warped with callouses around stumpy but affluent fingers.

            Ori realized his were relished as much as the ones he admired; he was wanted as much in return.

            He tilted his head when the braid behind his ear was taken between forefinger and thumb. When it was worked free and through he turned his face, eyes down and not quite ready to see, only to enjoy how sweet it felt. Dwalin left the braids in his beard for last and they were the ones he worked the most tenderly.

            On the third pass Ori looked up and simply enough let their lips meet.

            Kissing was not a rarity among their people however it was not something bestowed so fervently as within other peoples. It was something private, something not meant for a passing fancy. Ori had to slot his head sideways to achieve a full press of their mouths and the pressure and framing of Dwalin’s facial hair was almost exactly as he had imagined.

            Yes, he had always imagined it to be much softer than it looked.

            Dwalin was working his clothing from his body and the omega tried to reciprocate, he really did, but it was just another area in which they were opposites. But they both smiled and the warrior set about taking his own furs, leathers, and armors away.

            While it was easier for Ori he found himself moving slowly. He wasn’t shy, he couldn’t think of a dwarrow that was, but he knew he was lacking. Really, his lacking in almost every necessary skill helpful to their journey had been more than enough to explain his withdrawal at each obstacle they’d faced. To lack in an area such as pleasing your mate—and such a thing could easily be possible because he was far more attractive as a wolf: he wasn’t even half as hairy as a prized dwarrow should’ve been!

            “I think I can hear your brain working.” Dwalin was spreading his furs atop the grass.

            Ori had been fed up with his ‘lacking’ earlier; he’d stopped it once before with the determination to help his friends and a conveniently given war hammer. So he undressed and crawled to his alpha’s side.

            Hands were upon him instantly and he was a little startled at how quickly he was on his back, but he was kissed again and with callouses almost too much, almost painful, he focused on reaching out his own fingers.

            Dwalin still held the scars (of course) and they were still hairless and an angrier color than the surrounding skin. The hair of his chest was thick and almost the same coarse as his beard, and truly if he were to grow it out the two could easily blend into the other. Ori curled his fingers into it and the muscle beneath.

            The older dwarrow had to move them aside in order to duck low to give his mouth access. Ori had never thought of how lips and tongue would feel in places as, well, as mechanical and ordinary as his shoulder or his collarbone. Now he would fantasize about it whenever was most improper, he just knew.

            Dwalin’s mouth and hands moved as one until he gave pause at Ori’s nipple. His fingers squeezed into his hips. The scribe didn’t know which caused him to arch but as that tongue circled the nub and teeth skimmed and hands pulsed he knew he was curling up from the ground as his body would allow.

            He was eased back down to where he felt he could open his eyes again.

            Dwalin was panting down at him, literally sending puffs of air down to his wet and raised flesh, cold and stimulating. His palms resumed their stroking, beginning at the narrows of his rib to follow the outward curve of his flanks until the flared shape of his hips. Here his stroking intensified in both speed and depth.

            “Hips like these,” the warrior began but then took a moment to swallow. “You were made for a big alpha, made to be given pups.”

            A jolt shot through Ori as if his spine snapped to attention except it was his hips bucking up into the onslaught, his mind grasping at the idea of being full of anything Dwalin could give him.

            His lover lowered to lick a swatch up the swath of hair connecting his belly button lower, stooping to bite at either side of the little divot. Then he ran his nose over each and then across, back and forth and pressed in. When he followed the hair trailer lower to its most dense he buried it there while allowing his omega to bury his arousal within his mouth in such an oddly graceful movement that Ori found his legs suddenly slapping over muscular shoulders.

            Dwalin encouraged this action by digging his grip into the ample swell of his outer thighs. Ori curled his body forward, making his tummy tremble with the effort so that he could splay his fingers across the smooth head buried in his lap. He was afraid if he didn’t distract himself he’d either squeeze far too hard with his inner thighs or embarrassingly lock his ankles together to never let his mate stop.

            So he turned his attention, tried, to the press of his heels against the hard lines of Dwalin’s back and the feel of smooth skin under the pads of his fingers. What he focused on was very dim to him as he could barely keep his eyes open nor ignore the way his back was protesting the curved position. He didn’t want to relinquish it, he wanted to do something, to press up into the wet, the wiggling, the damp air around his length but all he could think was how he didn’t know, he didn’t know, and it already felt too good.

            When his length slipped free, and he was released slowly as if his lover was resentful of having to pull away, he had to quickly drop back to appease the quivering in his stomach muscles and wipe drool from the corner of his mouth.

            Dwalin sat straight then, eyes roaming and thumbs tracing lines into the inner thighs beneath them. Ori reached up to touch the fur covered muscles of his lower stomach, as far as he could at the moment. He made two passes before his alpha was spreading his legs further than he’d ever had reason to before.

            He tried to speak evenly: “Don’t you want me to…” He motioned but did not finish his sentence.

            “Next time,” Dwalin growled. He bent practically in half to draw a loud sniff at the omega’s opening. With his legs spread Ori could now feel how wet he was, how his muscles were contracting now that he was on display.

            The warrior was up the next moment, his cock large and red, jutting from the circle of his hand. Ori knew the promise of their ‘next time’ would be his chance to learn and explore his lover as he had been but now, with dark pupils and pheromones pouring off him in waves, he knew the alpha wanted nothing more than to lay his claim.

            Dwalin leaned in and circled the rounded head of his length against the lips of Ori’s center.

            “Will you,” the scribe heard himself, “knot again?”

            “You really know nothing.” The alpha did not seem displeased by this nor did Ori feel insulted by the awed tone. “I’ll only knot you in your heat or during my rut. I won’t hurt you this time.”

            “You didn’t hurt me last time,” Ori said, recalling he’d already said so and wholeheartedly believing it wasn’t possible in the slightest.

            His mate looked further pleased by this and leaned forward so they could kiss once more. Then he pressed inside.

            It was so much better than their last pairing and that was astounding even to his own mind. He felt fuller, he felt more sensitive even free of his head, and he could look and watch and touch and pull at his lover. He could arch his back and roll his hips and wrap his legs about a strong torso.

            He did these things to get more of Dwalin within, to get more movement, to get more friction because he wasn’t as lubricated as before and yet he found it more enjoyable to feel the pull of a cock in and out of his gripping hole. His alpha seemed to find it just as enjoyable, grunting and sweating above him.

            Each thrust was deep; each one was everything Dwalin could give him with the added momentum of the warrior’s desperate passion behind it. Ori tried to meet each thrust but had nothing more to offer. He had never found his voice, it felt stuck at the back of his throat, and so the sounds of their mating threated to drown out everything else save for Dwalin’s audible exertions.

            His mouth was open, everything clenching, and Ori didn’t want to look away, didn’t want to let it end.

            But Dwalin’s rhythm was losing its precision and then: “Touch yourself.”

            The omega didn’t need to, he was close, scrambling right at the edge but the urge to please his bonded drew his hand down. He worked himself but came to the look on Dwalin’s face as he stuttered to his own finish.

            Somehow Ori was more than comfortable with the excess weight above him, the softening cock within, and the drip of seed around it. When Dwalin finally withdrew it wasn’t to clean but to curl more comfortably around Ori’s back.

            The omega let a moment and then a few more go before giving in to the desire to tease his love once more. “Don’t fall asleep; you’ll give Dori a good chance at actually killing you.”

            Dwalin snorted and drew him closer. “Balin’s distracting him.”

            Ori found it a little harder to fall asleep with that information.


End file.
